


Help Me Make It Through the Night

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets infected by sex pollen and asks Sam to help. [reposted, first posted on livejournal 18/9/2013]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Make It Through the Night

"What the hell did you do, Sam?" Dean asks, voice a little too high-pitched, standing stock still. The gunshot still echoes in Sam's ears, loud and sudden, and Sam slowly lowers his gun, eyes glued on Dean.

Dean, who is standing with his arms spread at his sides, looking down at himself with horror. Dean, whose lower half is covered in a layer of pollen, a sweet, soft shade of pink that makes Sam think of cotton candy. The plant the pollen emitted from is laying in tatters at Dean's feet, ripped apart by Sam's shot.

He bites his lower lip. "Reflexes?" he replies tentatively.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean says, slowly, and looks up at Sam with a murderous glare.

Sam thinks that's a little unfair. It's not _really_ his fault. The plant had moved, right at Dean, and Sam had shot it without thinking. And yes, it had been rash and foolish, considering the whole sex pollen thing. But he hadn't been prepared for the plant to _move_ , given that it was a damn _plant_ and all that. Sam really doesn't think he can be blamed for his reaction. 

"Maybe it's not that bad," he tries feebly.

"I'm covered in a truckload of pollen, Sam," Dean snaps. "Just a sprinkle of these made people go _crazy_ and I look like a took a freaking bath in the stuff. You really think it's not going to be bad?"

"You need to breathe it in for it to work, so maybe if you hold your breath and try getting the stuff off..." Sam trails off, knowing the idea isn't going to work.

Dean's glare intensifies, and then his expression twitches and he _sneezes_. Sam feels his stomach drop.

"Umm, well, at least all it'll do is make you horny. It shouldn't be all that different from how you usually are," he says hopefully, and takes a precautionary step back. From both Dean and the pollen.

+

"I'm holding you accountable for this," Dean says, squirming in the passenger seat of the car. 

"I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't thinking. I just saw that thing move and I shot," Sam says, keeping his eyes on the road steadfastly. 

Dean's clothes from earlier have been burned, boots and all, and he's washed himself down with their whole supply of holy water, but it's done nothing to slow the effects of the pollen down. There's now a very visible bulge in Dean's pants that Sam is trying his best to ignore.

"Look, we're only about ten minutes away from the next town. I'll get us a motel room there and then I'll go find you someone," he adds quickly. "You'll be fine."

"You'll find me someone?" Dean echoes, and he sounds anything but pleased. Sam grimaces.

"You know, a hooker or something."

"Sam," Dean says. "It's a tiny small town. There probably _are_ no hookers there."

"Well, someone else then. At a bar or something."

"Oh, great!" Dean exclaims. "You just want to walk up to someone and ask them if they want to have sex with your brother, who's waiting at a seedy motel? I'm sure that's gonna work."

"I'll come up with something, okay?"

"No, not okay," Dean grinds out, sounding angry now. "The only people that would be willing to come back to a motel room to fuck a guy they never met would be freaking _weirdos_. Like, the serial killers kind of weirdos."

"I'm not going to bring you home a serial killer," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna make sure it's someone safe, okay? And it's not like we have another choice here."

"Oh yes, we do," Dean replies. "You're the one who got me into this mess, you're the one fixing this."

"Meaning what?" Sam asks.

"Meaning, you'll get us a room, get naked, and then we're taking care of this together."

Sam snaps his head around to look at Dean, who, to his credit, is looking kind of uncomfortable, despite the determined jut of his jaw.

"Dean," Sam says and forces himself to look back at the road, because driving them off the road isn't going to help them right now. He tries to stay calm, but he's gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles are white. "Are you completely insane?"

"You have any better ideas?" Dean argues. "Cause in about thirty minutes, I'll be so damn horny I'll fuck anything and I'd rather it be you than some _creep_ , because I won't be in damn control over who I pick."

His voice is a little shrill, and Sam feels his heart clench because Dean is quite clearly starting to panic. The worse thing is that Dean is right, this is Sam's fault and it's his job to fix things. 

Sleeping with Dean still doesn't sound like the solution to the problem though.

"It's not a big deal, Sam," Dean continues, desperate, and Sam suddenly wonders if it's the sex pollen. If Dean is already so affected that Sam, the only other person around right now, seems like the best candidate because his sex-meddled brain is making him think that. "I've listened to you jerk off a million times."

"Okay, first off, that's completely different. And secondly, that's kind of creepy."

"It's not my fault you're loud," Dean mutters. He's squirming around in his seat more than before now, Sam notices, and he's half-tempted to reach out, place a hand on Dean's thigh just to calm him down.

"Fine, so I'm loud and you've heard me jerk off. That's light years away from actually having sex with each other."

"Sam," Dean pleads, and Sam shakes his head. "It's not like we've never crossed the line before."

"We haven't!" Sam argues.

Dean snorts. "Oh, really? Cause I remember us making out with each other for over an _hour_ a few years ago."

"We were both _cursed_ ," Sam points out. "And I thought we were never going to talk about that again?"

"I changed my mind," Dean replies. "And I'm cursed _now_ , and it's your fault, so there."

"We had no control over what we were doing that night whatsoever. That's not the same thing as this, okay? And it was just kissing."

"You were quite handsy for 'just kissing'," Dean mutters, sounding almost as if he's sulking.

"Cursed by a freaking witch," Sam stresses. "And still really, really different from actual sex."

"Jesus, Sam, I'm not asking you for a life-long commitment. All I'm asking is that you stick your cock in me and break this freaking sex pollen spell," Dean exclaims, throwing his hands into the air.

"Dean," Sam starts one more time, licking his lips. "Look, I just don't think it's a good idea. At all. In fact, it's a disastrous idea. And frankly, if you weren't already hit by those stupid pollen, you would probably agree and run away screaming at the idea of having sex with _me_."

"It's not the pollen, Sam," Dean says and when Sam glances at him, his hands are clenched and he's looking out of the window, expression tight. "You researched the hell out of this case. You _know_ what's gonna happen to me."

"You'll get horny."

"No, I'll get so horny I'd let anyone do whatever they wanted to me. You talked to the victims, Sam. They did stuff they wouldn't have usually done," Dean says. "And if I'm gonna be in a situation like that, where I won't say no to anything or anyone, I want it to be with you."

The words are like a stab in the heart, when Sam realizes that this isn't about Dean already being affected by the spell or about Sam being to blame for Dean being hit with the spell in the first place. Dean is genuinely worried about what will happen, and Sam is the only one he trusts. In less then half an hour the sex pollen will have taken full effect, and they both know Dean won't be thinking clearly by then anymore.

"Sammy," Dean says, and Sam can hear how scared Dean is in his voice clearly now.

"So, you, uh, want to be the one to, you know, bottom?" Sam asks, looking straight ahead and trying to sound calm, nonchalant. He can see the town coming up ahead of them already.

Dean laughs, humorlessly, but relieved. "It's what my body wants right now, anyway," he says.

"Have you ever been with a guy before? Like that?" 

"Yes, and yes," Dean admits. "Just a couple of times, though."

"Oh." Sam's not sure what else to say.

"Sam. Look, if you really don't want to, I'd get it," Dean starts, and Sam shakes his head.

"No. No, it's fine. And you're right – better me than anyone else," he says and glances at Dean, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

+

Sam makes Dean shower first, because Dean wiping himself down with holy water had been provisional at best and the last thing they need is for Sam to get hit by the spell as well.

While Dean is in the bathroom, Sam closes all the curtains, places condoms and lube onto the nightstand, and then gets undressed.

It feels weird, standing around butt-naked in their motel room, waiting for _Dean_ to come out so they can have sex. They've done plenty of weird stuff, things that were so fucked up and twisted Sam tries not to think about them, but this probably tops all of those things.

Sam sits down on the bed – king-sized, and just asking for the room had made Sam blush deep red, knowing he was asking for a king so he had enough room to fuck Dean– and he looks at the sheets, still untouched, and thinks about what's to come. What they're about to do. He thinks about Dean, lying down on the bed for him, willing ad eager to let Sam kiss him, touch him, _fuck him_. The thought makes Sam's stomach clench with nerves, but surprisingly, he's not nearly as put-off by the whole thing as he thinks he should be. If anything, he feels the first stirrings of arousal, thinking about Dean's, naked and spread out on the bed.

Sam startles when the bathroom door creaks open. It feels like he's being caught with his hand in a cookie jar, fantasizing about Dean like that. The thing is, Sam is pretty sure he's not supposed to enjoy the whole thing, is not supposed to get off on it.

Dean clears his throat, hand clenched in the towel wrapped around his waist, and looks at Sam, waiting. His chest is heaving and there are bright red spots high on his cheeks, and for the first time in his life Sam lets himself really look, lets himself think about how gorgeous Dean is.

"Come here," he says, voice rougher than he expected. Dean bites his lower lip, plump and pink, but there's no hesitation when he walks over the where Sam is sitting on the bed.

"Sammy," Dean says. _Moans_ , Sam thinks, and warmth pools in his belly.

"Drop the towel," he murmurs, reaching for Dean before the words are all out. He rests his hands on the back of Dean's thighs, skin warm and damp from the shower, and Dean lets himself be tucked forward easily. He climbs onto Sam's lap as the towel falls to the ground with a soft whoosh, fabric sliding against Sam's hands, and settled down over Sam's thighs.

He's heavy, heavier than the girls Sam is used to, and his cock, already hard, is brushing against Sam's stomach, unfamiliar. Sam has looked at guys before, has given the idea of hooking up with one a fleeting thought now and then, but he's never actually done anything – being cursed into making out with Dean, aside.

Yet, he pulls Dean down into a kiss without second thought, and the first touch of their lips is both a shock to his system and startlingly familiar. He's all but forgotten about that time the witch cursed them, filed it under just another thing that can happen when you're a hunter, but now the memory comes rushing back.

The softness of Dean's lips, the way they easily fit together like they've been doing this for years, the intensity of it.

Sam breaks the kiss, hands framing Dean's face, and pulls back. He feels a thrill go through him when Dean tries to follow him, making the sweetest whimper, and he can't resist leaning in for another quick, soft kiss.

"How do you want to do this, Dean?" he asks, thumb stroking over Dean's cheekbone.

Dean blinks, looks at him with dark eyes, pupils dilated. He leans in, tries to catch Sam's lips in another kiss, and rocks forward, his dick sliding against Sam's stomach. 

"Dean," Sam says, more firmly now. "How do you want to do this?"

"Don't care. Anything you want," Dean breathes out. "Please, Sammy. Please. _Anything_."

He looks so eager, so needy, so _vulnerable_ and Sam realizes that he was an idiot to even consider letting someone else take care of Dean like this. Dean was right – he's not in control right now and they can't trust anyone else not to take advantage of that.

"Fuck," Sam curses and closes his eyes for a second, taking a calming breath because just the thought of a stranger being with Dean right now makes his heart hurt with fear.

"Sam," Dean says, voice pleading, and Sam forces himself to open his eyes, smile reassuringly at Dean. He closes the distance between them, kisses Dean, and Dean hums in satisfaction.

Sam wishes he'd paid more attention to the countless times Dean has bragged about his sex-life, so he'd have a better idea of the things Dean likes. More importantly, the things he _doesn't_ like. As it is, all Sam can do is stick to the basics and hope Dean doesn't hate him for it in the morning.

"I'll take care of you. Promise," he mumbles against Dean's lips and slowly shifts them back onto the bed.

Dean lets Sam guide him down, lay him out on the mattress and he lets his legs fall apart easily when Sam moves to kneel between them. Sam retrieves the bottle of lube from the nightstand, pops it open, and coats three of his fingers. Sam knows the mechanics of sex with guys, even if he's never done it before, but he still prays he's doing it right and not forgetting anything important. 

He forgoes anything fancy, reminds himself that this isn't about impressing his bed partner with how generous and skilled he is, but about lifting the spell off Dean. So he gets right to it instead, kissing Dean and murmuring reassuring, encouraging words to him while he fingers him open.

Dean feels incredibly tight as he pushes his first finger in slowly, tighter than what Sam is used to, and to Sam's shame he can't help but think about how incredible Dean will feel around his cock. He puts the thought out of his head and tries to concentrate on Dean instead, on getting him lose and slick. He uses the lube liberally, thinking too much is probably better than too little – especially for someone like Dean, who isn't all that experienced. Either way, Dean doesn't seem to be in pain. He moans, rocking up and down on first one, then two, then three of Sam's fingers and grinding his cock against Sam's stomach.

The noises he makes go straight to Sam's dick; breathy, whimpering gasps and moans in-between him saying Sam's name in a voice Sam has never, ever heard from him before. 

Once Sam can fuck Dean with his fingers easily, his hole lose and relaxed, he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets. 

"Ready, Dean?" he asks, even though he knows Dean is far beyond caring, beyond knowing whether what Sam is doing is okay, if he's ready. Sam can only hope he is.

He rolls a condom down his dick, slicks himself up with lube, and hoists Dean's legs around his waist. He thinks he remembers hearing that it's easier if the guy on the receiving end is on his hands and knees, but Sam needs to be able to see Dean's face, to make sure Dean is all right while they do this.

He positions himself with one hand on his cock, braces the other one on the pillow right next to Dean's head and starts pressing in.

"Fuck, yes," Dean moans, throwing his head back. His hands are on Sam's shoulders, gripping him so hard Sam knows he's going to have bruises there tomorrow, but not caring.

Dean feels incredible. He's hot around Sam, wet with lube, and despite Sam's prep, he's almost painfully tight. 

"Dean," Sam moans brokenly and slides in further, inch by inch until he bottoms out. His eyes remain glued on Dean, carefully cataloging the expression on Dean's face, but there's no sign of pain or discomfort, and Sam feels a wave of relief. Both because he doesn't want to hurt Dean, and because he doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to pull out of Dean.

"Fuck," he grunts. "Do you have any idea how you feel, Dean?"

"Hmm," Dean hums and squirms, the movement making Sam shudder with pleasure.

He grabs Dean's leg around the back of his knee, tugs it a little higher up his waist, and then lets go, bracing his hand on the other side of Dean's face. He leans down, captures Dean's mouth in a kiss, tongues and lips sliding together as he gives Dean a moment to adjust. 

Sam rests his forehead against Dean's for a second when he breaks the kiss, murmurs Dean's name, and then starts fucking Dean. He takes it slow at first, tentatively swiveling his hips, rocking in and out of Dean.

Dean doesn't seem to have any complains, though, moaning and looking up with eyes so dark they're almost black.

"Sammy. Sam," he pleads, and the sound of his own name on Dean's lips as he fucks him makes something inside of Sam burst with happiness and arousal. 

"Yeah," Sam whispers. He pulls out almost all the way, thrusts back into Dean as far as he can, and white hot pleasure rolls through his body at the way Dean clenches around him, gasps as Sam buries himself deep inside him. 

Sam picks up a bit more speed then, fucks Dean harder, faster, and watches the look of pleasure on Dean's face each time he snaps his hips forward, pushing in. Dean is beautiful like that, cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, his lips parted, and Sam can't look away. He feels transfixed, feels a need for Dean in that moment he can't remember ever having felt before, and even if he knows it's not really him but the spell that's making Dean feel this way, seeing Dean like this makes Sam feel proud and possessive and so many foreign emotions it's making his head spin.

Dean comes first, untouched, and Sam fucks him through it, kisses him deep and dirty, swallowing Dean's moans. He comes soon after, buried to the hilt inside of Dean.

His whole body is shaking with pleasure and exhaustion, and he collapses on top of Dean before rolling them around so they're both on their sides. Dean doesn't pull away, shuffles closer if anything, and kisses Sam fervently. 

Sam feels boneless and tired, but he kisses Dean back, strokes his hands up and down Dean's back lazily as they make out. He doesn't protest when Dean rolls him onto his back and straddles him not twenty minutes later and grinds their bodies together until Sam is hard again.

+

They fuck twice more that night. The first time, Dean rides Sam, hard, fast and desperate, until he comes all over Sam's stomach and then he pulls off Sam and finishes him off with a sloppy blowjob that makes Sam's eyes roll back in his head. The second time, Sam spreads Dean out on his stomach. He takes his time, slides in and out of Dean slowly, languidly, and he can't help whispering sappy confessions into Dean's ear, about how amazing he feels, how beautiful he sounds as Sam fucks him, how goddamn gorgeous he is.

They finally fall sleep in the early hours of the morning, worn out and sated. The room smells of sex and the sheets are dirty with come, sweat, and god knows what, and Sam knows they're both in desperate need of a shower. He doesn't care, though, and he doesn't make a move to pull away when Dean shifts close, limps tangling and bodies pressed together under the sheets, sticky and too warm.

+

Sam wakes up when Dean pulls out of his arms and he blinks his eyes open sluggishly. It takes a moment to remember where he is, what happened the night before, and then his stomach twists.

For a short moment he watches silently as Dean sits up, his back to Sam, before he clears his throat.

"Dean?" he asks, voice husky with sleep. "You okay? The sex pollen thing, I mean, is it gone?"

"Yeah, all gone," Dean says with a wry chuckle and looks at Sam over his shoulder. "So, uh."

"You're feeling okay?" Sam asks, before Dean can get anything else out, and wants to slap himself for the question immediately. The way Dean feels after a night of getting fucked by Sam is a can of worms Sam doesn't want to open. Knowing Dean, it's something he will never want to talk about and considering how Sam enjoyed himself more than he should last night, it's probably for the better that way.

"Sore," Dean says, startling Sam out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"I'm sore," Dean repeats, shifting until he's sitting cross-legged next to Sam, sheets covering his lap.

"Shit," Sam says and scrambles to sit up. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting tangled in the knots, and peers down at Dean's face. "How bad is it? Do you need a doctor or something?"

Dean looks at him like he's crazy and snorts. "Sammy. Calm the fuck down," he says, sounding amused. "I spent the night getting pounded through the mattress. I'd be surprised if I didn't feel it today."

"Are you sure?" Sam asks, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment even though his worry is not quite soothed yet. "That, uh, was the first time I, you know, with a guy. And you were pretty out of it, so you couldn't exactly tell me if I was doing it right, so..."

"You did," Dean assures him, his tone light and not at all what Sam was expecting. Dean looks at him in a way that makes Sam both want to shield himself and crave an encore from the night before.

"What?" he asks, a bit snappishly, and Dean shrugs.

"Nothing, just...believe me, you didn't do a single thing wrong last night" he says. "It's just, you know, you're not exactly small, Sammy. I'm pretty sure there's nothing in the world you could have done to not make me feel sore."

Dean sounds almost cheerful. Like feeling sore is something he feels _happy_ about. He sounds, in fact, like Dean always does after a good night of sex, boasting and bragging and so damn satisfied it usually grates on Sam's nerves. Usually, it's not Sam that made Dean feel that way though. 

Sam was convinced that Dean would wake up and try his best to pretend last night didn't happen, threaten Sam in case he even so much implied that it had. Hell, even Dean punching him and telling him to get lost would be more plausible than this – this happy, pleased version of Dean that teases him about the size of his freaking cock.

Sam frowns. "Dean. Are you sure the sex pollen are all out of your system?"

Dean rolls his eyes and shifts, lying back down in the bed. "Positive," he says, stretching and then blinking up at Sam.

"Yeah? Cause you're acting pretty weird right now."

"Huh," Dean says. 

"Dean, seriously. Sex pollen or not, we had _sex_ last night. You and me. Several times. And you're not running for the hills, nor are you telling me we will never, ever talk about this again," Sam says. "Doesn't that strike you as not _you_?"

"You liked it," Dean says, tone dry, and Sam freezes.

"What?" 

"You liked it," Dean repeats. "Last night."

"That's. Dean," Sam stutters and shakes his head. "Look, Dean. It's not like that. I swear."

"Come on, admit it. I _remember_ last night, Sam. All of the things you said to me while we were doing it."

Sam feels caught somewhere between panic and utter misery, because Dean is right. Sam liked it. He liked fucking Dean, liked kissing and touching him. Hell, he liked falling asleep next to Dean, their naked bodies tangled together.

"So this is what?" he asks, a lump form in his throat, "Some kind of game?"

"Sam. Fuck, no," Dean says roughly, and he struggles to sit up, his arm suddenly around Sam's waist. His forearm is in Sam's lap, resting over Sam's dick, and his hand cups Sam's hip, fingers calloused and warm.

"Hey, look at me. That's not what I meant, Sam," Dean says, and Sam looks at him. There are no traces of how Dean usually is, guarded and hiding behind layers of cockiness – instead he looks open in a way he rarely does, and never with anyone other than Sam.

"This is really fucked up," Sam admits brokenly, and Dean huffs.

"What?"

"That I liked it. You're right, Dean, I did like it. And you should be yelling at me or punching me or, I don't know, telling me to leave."

"Sam, I asked you to fuck me last night. If anything, I started it."

"You were under a spell," Sam points out.

"Not when I asked you to do it. I still knew what I was doing then," Dean says firmly. "If one of us fucked up, it was me."

"No, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head. "You knew what would happen to you, what the pollen would do to you, and you asked me for help. You did nothing wrong. I should have..."

Sam trails off, not sure what he should have done. Dean strokes his hip softly, starling Sam with the realization that Dean is still touching him. 

"Should have what, Sam?" Dean asks. "You did exactly what I asked you to do."

"You didn't ask me to enjoy it," Sam argues. "I should have been more _clinical_ , or something. Whether you want to see it that way or not, I took advantage of you last night."

"I'm pretty sure I was a willing participant in the whole thing, Sam."

"You were under--" Sam starts, but he's cut off by Dean's lips on his, kissing him. He kisses Sam until Sam starts kissing him back, lips sliding together. Dean swipes his tongue over Sam's lips before pulling back, teeth catching at his bottom lip and tugging at the flesh for a split second before letting go.

"Dean," Sam starts.

"What? I'm not under a spell now, am I?"

"No," Sam admits. "But--"

"No buts," Dean says firmly. "You enjoyed last night, so did I. Spell or not. And that's it."

"So, what? You think we should do it again?" Sam asks, and Dean shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because it's really, really fucked up, Dean."

Dean snorts. "Not as fucked up as monsters and demons and freaking angels killing people," he says, and then pulls back further, rolling his eyes. "And I can't believe we're sitting naked in a bed, talking about our feelings."

"Well, I'm pretty sure this isn't something we can just do without talking about it," Sam offers, and Dean's expression lightens, lips stretching into a smile. 

"We talked about it," he says. "Means we can go on to the doing part then?"

"Dean. Seriously."

Dean laughs softly and leans in, kissing Sam but only catching the corner of his mouth. Sam gives in then, tilts his head to catch Dean's lips in a real kiss. "Sammy," he murmurs, and the voice makes Sam feel hot and cold all over.

"Fuck, Dean."

"Hmm," Dean hums. "Yeah. Except, not right now, cause I wasn't kidding about the sore part. Freaking giant with a giant dick."

"I didn't mean to," Sam starts.

"Sure you didn't," Dean teases. "Can't say I blame you, Sammy. I got a mighty fine ass."

"Yeah well," Sam replies, shrugging and not bothering to argue with Dean on that one.

Dean scoots to the edge of the bed with a grin and gets up, no bothering to cover himself with the sheets. "Come on, shower time, Sammy," he says. "We both reek. And I'm covered in spunk, lube and who knows what. I'm gonna have to teach you how to use lube in moderation only."

"I didn't want to hurt you," Sam says earnestly.

Dean snorts, but his expression softens and he gives Sam a small, understanding smile. "Come on, seeing as I'm the one who's all sore and gross because of you, you get to wash my back and help me get clean," he says, and winks at Sam in a way that Sam has seen him wink at countless girls and saunters off into the bathroom.

Dean might not be the most charming, suave guy he's ever met, but Sam understands suddenly why everyone they meet seems to fall for Dean so easily.

He follows Dean into the bathroom, where Dean already as the water running, and joins him under the spray.

Dean looks at him over his shoulder, hair plastered to his skull and falling his his face, and grins. Sam feels a surge of want, love and fondness, looking at him.

He grabs Dean by the hips, pulling him around to face him and backing him against the wall. Leaning down, Sam kisses him, making a mental note about how Dean doesn't seem to mind being manhandled and pressed against the tiles one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Kris Kristofferson's "Help Me Make It Through The Night".


End file.
